Songs for a New World
by LJ9
Summary: A series of eight oneshots inspired by selections from Jason Robert Brown's Songs for a New World. Featuring Neville, Snape, Ginny, Lavender, Luna, Sirius, Molly, and Harry.
1. A New World

These eight chapters were inspired by Jason Robert Brown's _Songs for a New World_, to which it might be helpful to listen. They're pretty great. Like the_ Songs_, these chapters don't follow any real narrative thread; they're just about kind of similar things. They're in the order of the songs in the show, and each chapter title is the name of the song quoted therein. I shall post one a day for the next week.

Thanks to Silver Ice for your review of "Ad Astra." I appreciate your kind words!

**Disclaimer:** All characters are property of J.K. Rowling. All lyrics are from _Songs for a New World_ by Jason Robert Brown.

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A New World

_A new world calls across the ocean  
A new world calls across the sky  
A new world whispers in the shadows  
Time to fly, time to fly_

One time he'd tried to be brave, and stand up for the rules, and it'd gotten him petrified. A rather too fitting and ironic result, he thought. At the time it had just proved that no matter what his Gran had said, this school was not going to be any different than the previous one, and being put in his parents' old house wouldn't suddenly make him a better wizard.

Now, because apparently just being a mediocre wizard wasn't shameful enough, there was someone who probably wanted to kill him for it. Neville didn't think that was fair in the least. His parents had been very good, magically speaking, and it had got them all but killed; now he himself was not all that good, and it would probably get him killed. He sighed.

Before his Gran had put him on the Express for the first time she'd warned him to look sharp and not tarnish the family name. "Neville," she'd said, glaring at him maternally, "this is your opportunity to start fresh. Seize it! I don't want to hear of you getting into any trouble, or losing anything, or getting lost..." The speech that had started almost encouragingly tapered off into the usual warnings and admonitions. He wouldn't have cared to admit it, but Neville had suspected he was more reliant on his Gran than other kids his age were on their real parents.

_Nobody told you the best way to steer when the wind starts to blow_

Or had been, at least. Over the years at Hogwarts he'd managed to learn a bit more than what was in the lesson plans. Part of it he'd chalk up to what he once would have called coincidence, but in a time of prophecies, the word "coincidence" rang hollow. All that aside, if he hadn't happened to be at school the same time as Harry and Hermione and Ron, he was sure he would've persisted in being disappointing Neville Longbottom. On the other hand, being away from his Gran had to have done some good, no matter who his classmates were. Not that he didn't love her; but she'd always told him who he was, and Neville wanted to find out who he was apart from her.

_And oh, you're suddenly a stranger  
Your life is different than you planned  
And you have to stay  
'Til you somehow find a way  
To be sure of what will be  
And you might be free_

For a while he'd continued being the same old Neville, but over time he'd changed. Sometimes he didn't recognize himself these days. He found himself thinking things that he wouldn't have dreamed of thinking before. He'd learned how to fight from Harry Potter himself, which should really count for something. Never had he imagined that he would risk his life for any cause without hardly thinking twice about it. Maybe just he was changing, or maybe the whole world was changing. It was certainly possible. The things he'd seen were teaching him not to call anything impossible too quickly. Neville didn't know what any day's tomorrow would bring, but he wanted to know; and for the first time he felt he could help change the world.


	2. On the Deck of a Spanish Sailing Ship, 1

Possibly not canon. Go flame someone who's not supposed to be working on a master's thesis. But I am proud of having chosen this character.

Thanks to Bubble for the review!

**Disclaimer:** I still don't own J.K. Rowling's characters or Jason Robert Brown's lyrics.

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On the Deck of a Spanish Sailing Ship, 1492

_And I know it's my responsibility  
But I'm starving too, and I hurt, I do, and I'm lost  
And I believe in my responsibility  
But I need to see if the fruits will be worth the cost_

He indulged in a bit of frivolity once and made a list of all the things he could be called for his unique role. Traitor, coward, turncoat, backstabber, betrayer, liar, fake, along with a host of less kind epithets, most of which he had already had thrown at him. They all applied, and could be flung by either side. Sometimes even he did not know what side he actually wanted to win; as long as he knew what to say to which wizard, he considered himself in good shape. Whatever the outcome of the war, he would not fare particularly well. That much he knew, and it did not make him desire the end to come with any haste. Anyone who imagined that he had put himself in this position for his own personal gain had precious little knowledge of the way the real world worked.

No matter what side he was on, he remained a teacher. His students may have had a hard time believing it, but he did enjoy teaching. Were it any other subject than Potions, he would not invest the time or effort; but the subject was his passion, and he felt the need to impart its wisdom to younger generations. Whether or not they took advantage of his expertise was entirely up to them. Most of them did not, and he felt no compunction at their poor grades.

Why, he sometimes wondered, did he spend so much time on an endeavour that was so unprofitable and so likely to end with his death? It was foolishness of the first order. He was not one to willingly engage in any sort of foolishness, but he had put himself into the thick of this situation. It was illogical and foolish, and he disliked anyone knowing what a spot he'd put himself in. He'd spent some time reflecting on it and always came to the same conclusion: this would not end well for Severus Snape. And yet he carried on with the foolhardy enterprise. Why?

_Stop—take a look at your children who believe in this promised land_

Unlike some of his colleagues, Snape did not have a special soft spot in his heart for children. They were at best difficult and time-consuming. At worst, they were dangerous and infuriating. No, he was not a teacher because he believed in the promise of the future that his students held. If that made him grumpy or grouchy or any of the things he knew they called him, so be it. He was not at Hogwarts to make friends.

And yet... He still felt some kind of responsibility to the darling little ones. Somewhere in the recesses of his mind he remembered what it was like to be a child. He had never been as flighty as many today were, and was a good deal cleverer even as a child than these were (he was sure that humankind in general grew stupider with each passing year), but he remembered being unsettled by certain... changes in himself that took place while at Hogwarts. Despite his demeanor, Snape was not a completely uncaring man. He did, indeed, care for something, which was why he found himself in the nearly-intolerable position of being a double agent.

It sounded so cloak-and-daggerish, double agent. He was not on an episode of "The Avengers," although the double agents of that program never met with happy ends themselves. Snape allowed himself a sigh at the thought of Mrs. Peel and the heyday of sophisticated yet light-hearted British espionage. It was leagues away from where he found himself.

At one time he may have embraced Voldemort's plans, but if he did, it was out of anger and hatred. At his stepfather, at Potter and Black, at himself... But he had come to realize, nearly too late, that (to use a rather inept metaphor) the potion did not care who made it. The Gryffindors were a prime example of that. Purebloods: Weasley and Longbottom were deplorable and hopeless, respectively; half-blood: Potter got by, but he had the ability to be more than fair if he chose to act more like his mother than his father; and Muggleborn: Granger, insufferable though she was, was clearly a talented witch. If not for her personality, she could have been his prize student. Yes, his career as a teacher had proved time and again that one's blood did not make one's destiny.

_Lord, save this child  
I am not strong enough  
I am not strong enough_

He was being watched at all times, by both sides, and it was tiring. For a less intelligent man it would have been too much. At times he nearly entertained the hope that Dumbledore's side would win and that his covert operations would go unrecognized—he wanted no medals for what he was doing. But more often than not he found himself praying to any power that his death would be swift, for he was already judged and damned.


	3. I'm Not Afraid of Anything

If I'd had an internet connection anytime recently, these would have been posted at their proper times.

I know there's no David anywhere, but I'm not changing it to "Harry." If I did, I would suck, and JRB would roll over in his grave if he were dead, which I'm pretty sure he's not.

**Disclaimer:**I don't own any of the characters or any of the lyrics. Those belong to J.K. Rowling and Jason Robert Brown, respectively.

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I'm Not Afraid of Anything

_I'm not afraid of anything_  
_Be it mountains, water, dragons, dark, or sky_  
_I'm not afraid of anything_  
_Tell me where's the challenge if you never try_  
_So watch me fly_  
_I'm not afraid_

It had been told her as long as she could remember. She was sure that her mother had whispered it over her cradle, but the first time she really remembered it was from her father. Some of the boys—it didn't matter which ones, but likely Ron or the twins—had been chasing her and she'd run into Dad. He caught her up into his arms and hugged her closely until the threat had dissipated. When her attackers, seeing that Dad was not leaving anytime soon, had given up, he'd set her on the ground again and smoothed her hair.

"Now, Ginny," he'd said, "whatever they do, you know your brothers love you." She'd stuck out her tongue at that, but he'd been undeterred. "They do, and they wouldn't ever do anything seriously bad to you. The trick, my darling baby girl, is not to let them know you're afraid. Somehow they can tell. So do not be afraid."

Growing up with six older brothers, two of whom were mischief incarnate, it was easier said than done. But over time, Ginny learned to be less afraid of whatever tricks her brothers might play on her. Part of this had to do with her confidence in her parents' abilities to undo whatever spell George and Fred might put on her; part of it was the knowledge that they would be punished for their wrongdoing; and part of it was that they really did love her, and really did not want any actual harm to come to her. And so she grew, and grew less afraid.

At Hogwarts, although her brothers had "warned" her of any number of horrible occurrences and ghastly fates that awaited her, she at least knew that they were there. Ron and Fred and George and Percy, even if they didn't want anything to do with her at times, were there if ever she needed them, and that made her braver. Ginny had, of course, expected to be sorted into Gryffindor; both her parents had been, and poor Uncle Fabian and Uncle Gideon, and all of her brothers. She would not be the first Prewitt or Weasley in all those ages not to be sorted into Gryffindor. So she steeled herself against the spiders Ron said would crawl out of the Sorting Hat and thought fiercely of red and gold and lions.

_Listen to the calling of excitement_  
_Can you feel the pounding of my heart_  
_The lights are ready—pulse is steady_  
_I can start_  
_Never stop the calling of the challenge_  
_Blessing of the water and the stones_  
_And David loves me_

She'd been infatuated with Harry Potter for as long as she could remember, and when Ron had befriended him, it got a lot worse before it got better. When she was finally able to walk and talk and act like a normal human being around him, after her crush had worn away, she found that she actually liked him as a normal human being himself. Few people would ever classify him as a "normal human being," but at some level he was. Just a boy who wanted to have friends and play games. Circumstance got in the way of that, nine times out of ten, and other people made such a big deal about how he was Special and Different, but he wasn't all that. And if he was, it was against his will.

Soon Ginny wasn't afraid around him anymore. They were friends, although she was falling in love with him, and he didn't seem to think her repulsive. It was almost funny—she would have thought that loving him would scare her, make her afraid that any minute might be the last, for any of them, really.

And there was, deep in the back of her mind, the smallest whisper of fear. It never went away; it was there constantly, as she walked the corridors, went to lessons, ate meals. One time she had looked at Ron and the fear had made him seem not alive and spearing a last sausage at breakfast but cold, dead, and worst of all, alone. At that moment Ginny had sat unable to move, to breathe, to do anything but imagine them dead, one by one: her mother, her father, each of her brothers, Hermione, Harry, and on through the ranks of her Hogwarts friends to the people who she didn't actually know but saw every day. The fear was choking her from the inside, and she felt helpless and sick and devoid of all hope, and more afraid than she'd ever thought she could possibly be.

After that she'd decided that her life could not continue like this. It wasn't bloody much of a life if it was spent cowering and whimpering. Her parents hadn't raised her to be fearful; nor had her brothers, for that matter. Ginny knew no one would fault her for being afraid in times like these, but that was just it. She didn't need much courage for everyday things, aside from a few run-ins with Malfoy and his henchmen around school; she needed all of it for meeting her evil pen-pal and fighting witches and wizards older and stronger and smarter than her. She needed to save it up for when it mattered most, for when there were lives more important than her own on the line.

_And I'm not afraid of anyone_  
_I am sure to win with anyone at all_  
_I'm not afraid of anyone_  
_Not a soul alive who can get behind this wall_  
_So let them call, and watch them fall_  
_'Cause after all_  
_I'm not afraid_

If she really thought about it, Ginny wasn't afraid of dying, and she wasn't afraid of taking risks. What she was afraid of was living in a world where a man who had once been Tom Riddle was in command. She was afraid of never hearing her mum's voice again, or helping her dad pick up old batteries, or fighting with Ron, or being a guinea pig for the twins' tricks. The only way she was afraid of living was without them. Ginny swore that she would not let that happen, and so she would not fear.

A small smirk crept onto her face. Voldemort ought to be warned: Ginny Weasley had made up her mind.


	4. Stars and the Moon

**Disclaimer: **I don't own J.K. Rowling's characters of Jason Robert Brown's lyrics.

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Stars and the Moon

_I met a man without a dollar to his name_  
_Who had no traits of any value but his smile_

Despite what some of her classmates thought about her, Lavender Brown was not entirely superficial. She was, however, a teenage girl intent on enjoying that status. In her mind, that meant kissing a good number of boys.

She'd decided one day that Ron Weasley was quite taken for granted. Sure, he wasn't famous or rich like Harry Potter, or determinedly brilliant like Hermione Granger, but he was quite cute, especially when his ears turned pink when he was embarrassed. Lavender had decided that she ought to kiss someone so cute, and probably ought to kiss him more than once.

Not right at first, but after a bit it was quite nice to kiss him. He was a bit thick about picking up on the universally accepted signals that meant that she wanted him to kiss her, which made her have to kiss him more than she would've liked, but what he lacked in recognition he made up for in enthusiasm. Ron was tall, and reasonably popular, and had _gorgeous_ eyes. She'd done well to snag him just when she did. There was little possibility of any kind of future for them, but she wasn't one to look to the future that much, except in Divination. Lavender liked living in the present. That way you knew where you were.

"_I'll give you stars and the moon and a soul to guide you_  
_And a promise I'll never go_  
_I'll give you hope to bring out all the life inside you_  
_And a strength that'll help you grow_  
_I'll give you truth and a future that's twenty times better than_  
_Any Hollywood plot."  
And I thought, "You know,_  
_I'd rather have a yacht."_

Lavender knew that one of the surest signs of success as a teenage girl was inspiring jealousy and outright hatred in other girls. She felt herself rather successful, judging by the tension between herself and Hermione, to say nothing of the chilly atmosphere between her boyfriend and Hermione. Lavender had never _dis_liked Hermione, but she could come off as rather... superior at times, couldn't she? Thinking that because she was _so_ brilliant and _so_ bloody knowledgeable about _every_thing that she was better than other people, who maybe didn't care as much about books as they did about boys. There was a reason Lavender hadn't been sorted into Ravenclaw, thank you.

But novelty only lasted so long, and even blind envy couldn't keep a relationship going for too long past its bitter end. She hadn't been happy to give it up—all _right_, she'd been very upset about it—but there were little lies she could tell herself to make it hurt less. She could always remind herself of the fact that he's poor and could never provide the kind of life Lavender had always pictured leading, where she didn't have to work, but spent her days shopping for expensive clothes and occasionally working as a model when she wanted to, not because they needed the money. Her husband would have to be from a good, upstanding family (_like the Weasleys_, a troublesome voice in her head said), _not_ one with seven children and a house falling down round their ears. He would have to be handsome, tall and strong, with deep eyes and a smile that would melt ice (_like Ron_). Her husband would have to make buckets of money and buy her diamond bracelets for absolutely no reason whatsoever, and cover their house in rose petals on her birthday, and be sensitive and romantic yet still strong and tough. She told herself that her husband would have to be near perfect, and that she deserved nothing less; and if she told herself often enough, she just might believe them.

Telling herself such things didn't help when she saw him look at Hermione like there were no other stars than the ones in her eyes. Just like he always had.

_And I thought, "My God—_  
_I'll never have the moon."_


	5. Christmas Lullaby

**Disclaimer:** I'm tired of writing these. If you actually think I own anything recognizable, then you're not all that familiar with the concept of "fanfiction."

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Christmas Lullaby

_I'll never have the power to control the land_  
_Or conquer half the world, or claim the sun_  
_I'll never be the kind who simply waves her hand_  
_And has a million people do the things I wish I'd done_

Luna considered herself lucky. She had the rare opportunity to be herself at any given time; and since being herself meant, to the rest of the Hogwarts population, being loony and unpredictable, she could really do anything she wanted to without disappointing any of her peers. Not many people could do that, she knew, and she embraced the opportunity. Even if it distanced her from others at times.

She felt sorrow for her classmates, who were so tied to their assigned roles, even those who seemed to enjoy them. Draco Malfoy, for one, got away with saying any hurtful thing he wanted, and could be bad-tempered whenever he chose without having to have an excuse; but in return he was hated, and had to deal with the constant treachery of his associates and his father's. Luna had thought more than once that being a Slytherin must be exhausting. All that watching your back must cause a lot of whiplash.

And then there were Harry and Ron and Hermione, who carried the weight of the world on their shoulders. Others said that just Harry did, but they didn't realize that Ron and Hermione carried him on _their_ shoulders. Luna was glad he had someone to share the burden with, but did not envy them at all. Harry was expected to literally save the world, and Ron and Hermione would have to be there with him. They weren't included in any prophecy, but their friendship meant that they were part of him. They would have to fight as hard or harder than he would. They would have to keep him alive until he could conquer Voldemort. Hermione and Ron would get less credit if their side (her side, too, Luna knew) won, but they would be blamed as much or more than Harry if they lost. No, she did not envy their position. She did not want such responsibility or power.

_And I will give the world my eyes so they can see_

People made fun of Luna for the way that she acted, but she believed that they were the ones who were handicapped by their adherence to "normality." They didn't, or couldn't, see what she did: the beauty and mystery of every day of life. Oh, _why_ didn't they see the way she did? They considered themselves lucky who could not see the thestrals, as if being shielded from death made them more pure. They really just wanted to keep themselves from feeling all the things that people felt when they saw someone die. There was sadness, of course, if it was someone you cared about, and relief if they'd been in pain, and guilt at the relief, and then sadness all over again, and on and on. It hurt more than any name Luna had ever been called and more than any trick anyone had ever played on her. Through the pain she had felt her eyes slowly open to see the world as it was and as it could be at the same time. She could see thestrals now, but she could also _believe_.

For all the time people spent complaining about how horrible the world was, they did very little to change that. Luna was guilty of the same thing at times, but she tried not to complain about anything over which she had no control. And she saw that the world was always beautiful, even as it was always cruel. She saw merciless fighting under a breathtakingly clear sky that she would never forget. She saw compassion and kindness to enemies in the midst of the worst storm of the decade. Life was never simple, and it always was. Luna felt most alone when she realized that no one else understood the world that way. She wished there were some way she could show others what she saw.

_And I will be like Mother Mary with a power in my veins_  
_To believe in all the things I've yet to be_  
_And I will be like Mother Mary, and I'll suffer any pains_  
_For the future of the world inside of me_

Perhaps they did not realize the strength it took to be Luna Lovegood. It was far easier to call names than to be called them, but she had long since learned to let the jeers and mockery go. Luna knew that she was young, that she had so much yet to learn and do and see, that she would one day become the person she was meant to be, no matter who that person was. It would take her whole life long to learn who she was, but she looked forward, every day, to learning a little more about herself and the world.

She already knew that she was never going to be a hero, a true hero. No one would ever hail her as the savior of the wizarding world, and that was fine with her. She would never be a hero, but she could not stand idly by. Like it or not, there was one person in whom she could see no good, and she could not let him win. Perhaps all of the years of being misunderstood and picked on were not just the throes of childhood, but were a preparation for something more. Perhaps learning to stand alone against the tide would help her hold others up against it. She was more than they knew, and was willing to sacrifice all she could give for the right. And she knew that in that willingness she was never alone.


	6. King of the World

**Disclaimer:** See previous chapters.

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King of the World

_Once upon a time I lives to protect_  
_I had rules to change _  
_And wrongs to set right _  
_And there were people at my side_  
_And there were rivers I could guide_  
_I wanted nothing in return_

Once upon a time... Sirius had never had much time for fairy tales, even as a child. None of them had ever ended with the handsome hero being falsely shut up in jail for the rest of his life. If the hero ever had been so imprisoned, it was only for a short time before he found a way to escape and continue on his adventuring. No, fairy tales ended with "happily ever after," which hardly ever happened in prison. Sirius had given up on imagining this as a merely inconvenience many years ago.

He'd become convinced that he'd been in a fairy tale, though. One that had started on a train in London when he'd met another dark-haired boy who would become the hero of the story. And then there were four of them, and their adventures grew in scope and fame. And all the while their task—they couldn't be a proper hero-and-retinue without having an impossible task to complete—had been to catch a bit of fire, shaped like a girl and named for a flower, and save it from itself, and marry it to the hero. Worse than Herculean, that. If they were still in school he would have had to have asked Moony what you called a task worse than Herculean, and Moony would have known the answer: Sisyphean. But somehow they had succeeded, and for a time they were all improbably happy.

_Let me out of here_  
_Give me back to the wind_  
_Let me out of here_  
_Let me please see the sun_  
_Let me out of here_  
_At least tell me what I did wrong_

He could remember running. The Muggles would call Azkaban cruel and unusual punishment; Sirius couldn't recall the last time he'd actually been outside, much less with enough room to run. But he could remember it, and he did, many a night, and many a day, too. At first he'd tried not to think of freedom and his old life, convinced that it would only make him mad faster to dwell on the things that he would never see or do again. But over time he'd come to realize that he would have to remember those things, because they were what made him human. The Marauders had known all too well what separated human from beast. It was more than a full, glowering moon; it was the ability to think and feel and act and know. So Sirius had let memories slip in, and he relived his favorite moments.

He'd loved running. Four legs beat out two for that any day, and he'd loved being so fast. Of course, Prongs was faster, but he also had longer legs. The wind in his hair, and the feeling of power, as if he had the ability to do anything, as if he could nearly fly... They were more than just _happy_ memories. They were sublime. Sirius cursed the hindsight that showed him that those were great days that he had taken for granted.

_I'm king of the world, chief of the sea_  
_I am the wind, at least I used to be_  
_I'm king of the world, please set me free_  
_Let me remind them of my promise,_  
_Live my given destiny_

If there were any memories Sirius would have liked to let go, they were the ones of seeing a hero and his wife dead, their baby son lying nearby. Rage would make him mad before happy memories did, and he fought to control the burning hatred that threatened to consume him. How _dare_ they take away their happily-ever-after. How dare their once-friend betray them and take away Sirius' true family? His vows to avenge James' and Lily's deaths were suitably fairy-tale-esque, he thought, but that made them none the less true.

Although the odds of him ever getting out were quite slim, Sirius allowed himself to make plans for when he did. They'd never expected to win a million galleons, either, but that hadn't stopped the Marauders from sitting around talking about what they would do if they did. Sirius had spent quite a deal of time debating a particular point: Should he first find Harry or Wormtail? He would want to know that Harry was all right, but surely Moony and Dumbledore had taken care of him properly. The problem with disposing of Wormtail first was that there was no telling how long it would take to find the little traitor. But he would find him, and kill him, and reclaim his rights as Harry's godfather. He had to.

How could he have taken such happiness for granted? Had he always thought that things would be so perfect? Why hadn't he told his friends how much they meant to him? He'd always assumed they'd known without having to be told, but it couldn't have hurt anything to say it aloud. Especially after Harry was born—Sirius could have easily slipped it in then and, if called on it later, said that he'd been caught up in the moment. Once upon a time, Sirius Black knew that he had been bloody lucky, far more so than he deserved to be. Once upon a time, he had been a king.

_At least I used to be_


	7. Flagmaker, 1775

Once again, I apologize for my failure to update in a timely fashion due to my lack of internet.

This song rips my heart out.

**Disclaimer:** I do not own anything in the Harry Potter universe, nor Jason Robert Brown's lyrics.

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Flagmaker, 1775

_The wise woman does what she knows_  
_If it's fighting, she fights _  
_If it's sewing, she sews_

This house that was not hers was too quiet. Quiet itself did not usually bother her, but this quiet did. There was too much of it. She could hear the house move and sigh to itself, and the clock tick in the hall. She was alone in the hostile house, with her husband and her children and her friends out there in the even more hostile world. It did not sit well with her at all.

Molly had put cubes of beef and vegetables in a pot to stew, and washed up the dishes she'd dirtied. Then she decided that fresh bread would go perfectly with the stew, and set about to make some by hand. Once the bread had risen and been put in the oven, she'd cleaned the kitchen again, carefully wiping up dustings of flour on the countertops. She'd swept the floor and put away the bowls and measuring cups, and sat waiting for the bread to bake. She caught herself staring hard at the oven, then saw her reflection and laughed.

"If there were a churn, I'd find myself making fresh butter next," she said aloud.

_With the roof leaking  
And the walls wetter  
And the night as black as pitch  
With the wind shrieking  
And his last letter  
Says he's fighting in a ditch  
Then the candle flickers  
And the river bickers  
What else can you do but stitch _

Some of her children—and some of the Order, she suspected—thought of her as nothing more than a mother. Those who had always known her as Molly Weasley, who had always seen her as pregnant or carting about a child or both at once, thought that she could do nothing other than be a mother. And she herself would admit that she was an excellent mother. Although their house was too small for a family of nine (plus guests), it was _spotless_. And although there wasn't enough money to buy each child new robes, she knew how to make her stitches tiny and nearly invisible. She reckoned she knew about letting out and taking up hems better than any mother, magical or Muggle, in all England. And she could heal a scrape with one hand and make a sandwich with the other while her eyes were closed. She was a good mother.

For the time being, that was her role and her service to the cause. For the time being, her place was in this house, keeping it tidy, clean, and ready. Keeping nourishing food in the cupboards and on the table, keeping the beds made and quiet, keeping bandages rolled and vials of potions full, keeping the wards up. Anyone who came to the house would find whatever they needed; the hungry would be fed, the injured would be tended to, the tired would find rest. For the time being, that was Molly Weasley's job, and one that she was, I beg your pardon, bloody good at.

But the second they needed her outside the house, she would join the battle. She would willingly join the fight to protect what she loved, what she believed in. By that she did not merely mean her children and her husband, although for any one of them she would give her own life. She did not mean the children she loved as dearly as her own, or her tidy house. She would fight to the death for good. It was such a nebulous concept, really; if You-Know-Who was evil, then their side and what they fought for was surely good. But, she thought firmly, no one deserved to die for the way they were born. It was just a... _silly_ thing to kill someone over, honestly.

_One more star, one more stripe  
'Til this bloodshed's finally through  
One more star, one more stripe  
'Til they come back home to you  
One more star, one more stripe  
When there's nothing you can do _

Until such time as they needed her to fight, she would remain here, in this silent old house, where she would do her best to keep from going mad. One could only sweep the floor so many times. There was a wireless, but it disturbed Mrs. Black's portrait, and Molly didn't feel up to wrangling with that frightful old woman. So she sat in the silence, feeling it swell up and throb against the walls until she wanted to scream.

The silence gave her too much time to think. She could too easily picture the danger that her children were facing. She imagined Death Eaters lurking around every corner they would turn, and she saw them dead, calling out for her. It was just too much, and Molly could not let herself become hysterical all alone in the quiet house. She needed to save her energy for when they came home, when the house was full again with children bickering and people needing sandwiches and tea and Tonks upending things every which way she turned.

It would be cold soon, and Lupin looked like he could do with a nice warm sweater. Molly picked up her needles and a ball of yarn and began to knit.

_If they take all the things  
That define what you were and are  
One more star... _


	8. Flying Home

Thanks to Fiyero for the review.

**Disclaimer:** I don't own anything you recognize, and even some of what you don't.

* * *

Flying Home

_I'll come to join you  
Reach out your hand  
And I'll be flying home  
Straight into your arms_

What if it all ended right then? It would be wonderful, obviously. But what would come after? If he lived, he would never be let alone for the rest of his life. He would have to put up with the press, and, well, fans, if fans are what you call people who are grateful to you for saving their lives. And if he didn't… it wasn't something he liked to dwell on, but he would at least see his parents again. That would be nice.

Either way, there would be open arms awaiting. But some could wait longer than others.

_And I'm flying home_

**The End.**_  
_


End file.
